


tear me to pieces, skin & bone

by homobirb



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eating Disorders, I'm Sorry, this is not happy yall, trigger warning, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobirb/pseuds/homobirb
Summary: The thoughts were small when they first began to sneak into his head. Nothing more than ghosts passing by.And then he started listening to them.// Please heed trigger warnings //





	tear me to pieces, skin & bone

**Author's Note:**

> me: I should write more smut, that's always fun to write. or maybe super cute fluffy fics that will rot everyone's teeth
> 
> my brain: but what about vent fics?
> 
> me: understandable, have a good day
> 
> title taken from [lovely by billie eilish feat khalid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1Pl8CzNzCw)

_You don't deserve to eat._

Goro Akechi doesn't remember when it started. The thoughts were small when they first began to sneak into his head. A tiny whisper here and there. He didn't try to fight them, just left them alone. Figured they were merely intrusive thoughts -- a result of low self-esteem combined with the barely concealed vitriol Shido spat at him. Nothing more than ghosts passing by.

And then he started listening to them.

_Disgusting. Waste of space._

It was easy enough to skip a meal here or there. No one noticed. And if anyone did, they didn't comment. The second coming of the detective prince was _so_ brilliant and got _so_ caught up with cases that he simply _forgot to eat._ What dedication. A prodigy.

He lost the weight without even trying.

A lie Goro was too willing to believe.

_Pig._

He's passed the convenience store four times now. Goro can only loop around the neighborhood for so long, so on the fifth time, he enters. Nonchalantly grabs a basket. Meanders towards the pre-made food section. Scans the area until his eyes settle on a sandwich, in a plastic container. Goro picks it up, checks the nutritional information.

He puts the sandwich back.

He picks it up again. _It isn't that much,_ he tries to reason with himself. He can fit it in. Pick the bread off, roll up the lunch meat with one of the condiment packets inside the tin. Throw everything else away. Or just eat the slightly wilted lettuce. Lettuce is mostly water and so it's _healthy._

Goro puts the sandwich back.

He picks up the sandwich.

The person behind the counter is starting to stare.

_It's too much._

He puts the sandwich away. He doesn't need it.

He buys a bottle of plain black coffee.

_Still too much._

The summer is the worst. In the winter, he can hide behind long sleeves and jackets, clothing that makes the shape of his body a pure mystery, something he won't cringe at if he sees himself in a passing mirror. But in the summer? His shirt only goes a quarter down his arm, showing off the _~~fat~~_ scrawny limbs, skin too translucent and colored veins popping against their backdrop, bones that jut out at weird angles and muscles that jump with every move. Not to mention, feeling too cold in the sweltering heat. It didn't look weird to bundle up in the winter, even more than most, with hidden layers of thermal underwear and lanugo to keep him somewhat warm from the chill in his bones. It was entirely out of the question to even wear a jacket most summer days -- he had a reputation to protect, to be seen as someone _not sick._

TV show hosts that nearly droop into puddles of liquidized sugar with the weight of pure _consumption_ ask him too many questions about his personal life. It's easier to talk about murders, about calling cards and elusive suspects, about stomach-turning disasters and rotting corpses in the morgue. They ask if he spends time at the beach. He smiles and laughs instead of showing his internal horror at the thought of his body in a swimsuit, laid nearly bare and exposed. "Police work is never done," he says in his oh-so-fake-saccharine voice, as sweet and as real as the half packet of sucralose in his morning ~~coffee~~ meal. He had thrown out the cup after a sip and remade it without.

_Lighter is better._

Sae-san tries to invite him to dinner more often. He's been doing more late nights recently, with the media frenzy following Okumura's televised death. He always has an excuse prepared; "I have some schoolwork I need to finish," or, "I'd better be getting home before the trains stop running." Always peppered with his sincerely-fake-apologetic, "I'm so sorry, today really does not work, but we should definitely grab dinner together another time!"

When the SIU director puts even more pressure onto Sae-san and the frequency of her invitations lapses as she scrambles to make an arrest, Goro feels happy ~~empty~~.

_Worthless child._

He's thoroughly enjoying his cup of coffee that Sakura-san had prepared for him without asking upon his arrival (no milk, no sugar). The caffeine leaks into his brain and wakes him up.

Kurusu-kun takes over for Sakura-san and sends the man home. It's just the two of them in the café. He feels relaxed.

The boy behind the counter places a large plate of hot, steaming, mouth-watering curry and rice in front of him. Goro flinches. 

"On the house."

That's...not what he was thinking. "No, thank you. I've already eaten dinner."

Kurusu-kun fixes him with a stare that makes Goro feel like he's sitting on trial, in front of a jury. "I insist you try it."

The prosecution lands a critical strike. "I couldn't possibly take advantage of your hospitality and kindness. You do remember that I blackmailed you to get on the team, right?" Oops. He's slipping, blood low on sugars and calories, pumped full of stimulants and dizzying breaths and headaches.

The teen shrugs. "I treat everyone on my team the same, including you. That includes feeding them."

 _I don't eat,_ Goro wants to say. He has just enough of a mind to stop himself, before confessing his crimes on the stand. That would be disastrous; being looked at with disgust not only from his bastard father but the misfit teens that _dare_ to have happiness in their lives, with friends and family and even fucking strangers that care about them. 

Goro only cares about himself, and he'd rather keep it that way.

Any attempt at rebuttal dies on his tongue when he sees how Kurusu-kun is looking at him. No, looking _through_ him, analyzing every muscle twitch, every hidden expression on his face. Goro can tell he'll barely be able to make it out of this interaction alive.

He takes a bite of the curry. The flavor explodes on his tongue. Every cell in his body screams for more, chewed up slops of actual food instead of chemicals that have an aftertaste of watered down coffee and empty buzzes. He nearly chokes on the food sliding down his throat.

He finishes the plate. Would lick it clean, given the opportunity. Kurusu-kun takes it back and dumps it in the soapy water that fills the sink.

The realization of his actions hit him like a truck. He's no longer in the blissful fog of being empty -- he's weighed down, stomach holding an anvil. The barista is barely able to capture his attention with meaningless conversation about _stealing hearts_ and _killing shadows._ Goro's heart is beating too fast; it threatens to burst out of his chest.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom. His face is pale, jaunt in the mirror. Goro focuses on the image and watches the skin fill out, sagging with the weight of fear and compliance, stuffed full by regret and duty. Soon, the mirror is not large enough to encapsulate his body. He counts his ribs -- they're still sticking out, but the ~~miniscule~~ abundant layer of fat is suffocating. His stomach is a round and distended lump, sticking out against the tightness of his shirt. His twig-shaped legs balloon into thick trunks and his feet can barely pick up the sheer heaviness that is his upright carcass.

Splashing water on his face does nothing. He needs to leave before Kurusu-kun can tempt him with any more regrets. His empty kitchen at home is more than enough to sate him.

Kurusu-kun is right outside of the door when he exits the bathroom. "Are you okay?" He asks Goro. The detective, for all he's worth, can't tell if the teen is genuinely asking or merely gathering information for ammo later. Equal retribution for his plan to send a bullet through the attic trash's pea-sized brain.

Goro doesn't answer, just pushes past him and rushes home.

He takes four laxatives and prays they're finished by the time he has class tomorrow morning.

They aren't.

He calls in and says he has the stomach flu. Close enough.

_You're above eating._

The thoughts fill his brain. He can barely think of anything else but numbers: calories consumed, calories burned, calories in any given food, liters of water and coffee to replace aforementioned food, weight lost, weight to lose, minutes and hours spent exercising, milligrams of caffeine and other stimulants swallowed.

They're ghosts, screaming in his head. Wrapping him in the comfort of a blanket, tightening until he suffocates and every breath is just a reminder of his useless body. Ideally, he ought to be utterly weightless -- having a physical form is so tiring. His heart beats even more erratically now. The muscle has probably been eaten away, to sustain his incompetent remains. Even if the Phantom Thieves didn't kill him, he wouldn't have lasted long anyway. It's a relief when he sees Shido's cognition of the happy lapdog amble towards him.

"So he's sent a puppet to kill me? How fitting."

His face sneers at him. "Don't act so surprised. He figured you would make an attempt on his life, so long as your little hobby of starving yourself didn't kill you first."

...Of course Shido knew. It was to his advantage, for his own son to weaken himself before his timely betrayal. And he said absolutely fucking nothing.

"Akechi..." Goro's head snaps up; it was Takamaki who said his name, but all of the Thieves look at him with such...pity? Disgust? He can't even tell anymore.

"Don't look at me like that," he growls. "I don't need your compassion. I'm _fine._ " He avoids looking at Kurusu-kun.

"No, you're not," the teen says.

The edges of Goro's vision turn red. "And what would you know about that? Have you lived a day in my shoes?"

"I don't need to. It's quite apparent you're suffering. It's not too late to get help."

The cognition is surprisingly silent. Goro spits on the ground. "I don't think you understand. I am mere weeks away from organ failure. I could have a heart attack tomorrow." He points his gun at the teen. "Isn't this familiar? I don't regret it, you know. Shooting you, I mean. Or not eating. It seems I was fated to die from the start."

He spins around and shoots his cognitive double. The sudden movement sends his brain spinning and he falls to his knees, clutching at his head. Shakily, he sends a bullet through the emergency door controls, before fully collapsing on the ground.

"Akechi!" he hears on the other side; it's Sakamoto.

"Shut up and let me die with my last shreds of dignity."

There's silence on the other end.

"Kurusu-kun?"

"Yeah?" The voice is muffled through the bulkhead door and Akechi's rapidly fading consciousness.

"Change his heart for me. Please."

"I will."

"Thank you." He nearly chokes on the words, a sob escaping his throat. Goro can't see, but he knows his cognition is standing before him, gun drawn. The safety clicks off.

"I'm sorry," Goro whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. 

The shot brings him the weightlessness he could never achieve. Finally, the high he was chasing all along, delivered by a bullet through the brain and the finality of death.

**Author's Note:**

> if you need to talk, my tumblr is itshomobirb.


End file.
